


(i've got my love to) keep me warm

by teamtotodile



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Cuddling, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Hinted At Violence, M/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, a warm boy, at least, because i didnt want to write blood in this fic. its kravs job theres no angst here folks, bed sharing, brief thing @ the start, couch sharing, hand holding, i had it, in which kravitz wishes he was, lots of love, taako is on the way to help, while writing the +1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamtotodile/pseuds/teamtotodile
Summary: warmthwôrmTH/noun1.) the quality, state, or sensation of being warm; moderate and comfortable heat.2.) enthusiasm, affection, or kindness3.) vehemence or intensity of emotion





	1. cold hands;

**Author's Note:**

> wowowow i can't write kravitz,  
> no proofreading we die like men (THIS IS A GOOD GOOF thanks @ lukas??? holy shit??? this probably wouldn't exist if not for your nice words and help with the tense stuff. I'm love you???)  
> (i am so sorry for this mess, lmao)
> 
> Title Lyric from: ive got my love to keep me warm, specifically the mills brothers version; link in the end notes!

The first thing Kravitz notices, really _notices_ , is how warm Taako’s hands are; he’s a furnace, an open fire, and the grim reaper thinks, in a single moment, that he needs more. More of this, more of the warmth he hasn’t felt in so long, because the spot where the other had brushed his arm is still burning, and without noticing he’s _savored_ it. Stretched out like a cat in front of a fire, warmer, warmer, warmer still, not noticing how cold he was until it was gone. 

 

Perhaps I’m being selfish, he ponders, on a cold (or what he assumes to be cold) night on the job, a night where his breath would have fogged in front of him if he had to breathe at all. (the only reason he could tell was his target, very much alive, warm in the face but shivering and giving off steam like a teapot left too long to boil, and sounding like it, too.) Kravitz backs the target into a corner, an alleyway of a town he can’t recall the name of, fresh snow crunching under his polished shoes, scythe illuminated in the pale moonlight. 

 

He swings. There is no warmth, no, but the concept lingers like a just extinguished candle.

 

\---

 

The second thing that Kravitz notices, later, is that Taako is… _Touchy_ , to put it lightly. If Kravitz is simply a cat stretching out in front of the fire, Taako is a cat. Period. He is a fire, a cat, so many things to the bounty hunter he can’t quite think about it without getting a headache, or feeling flushed in the face, just a little. 

 

What they have is different, and unconventional, and could go wrong in so many ways, but Kravitz thinks that’s one of the reasons Taako seems to enjoy it so much; this, whatever they have. It would be a bold-faced lie to say that Kravitz didn’t enjoy it too. 

 

For now, Kravitz sits on the gross, stained brown couch in the adventurer’s home, Taako’s head resting in his lap. It’s nearly sundown, and in the welcoming light Kravitz can see the roots of his friend’s ( “friend? Something more?” Kravitz ponders, too many days in a row,) dyed hair; brown, barely there, creeping like weeds into the blond. Taako shivers as Kravitz’s hand brushes just a little close to the scalp, his neck, any skin at all. 

 

They always seem to lapse into comfortable silence, basking in the comfort of each other, the light, and Kravitz in the warmth. He almost feels guilty, running clammy hands through Taako’s hair and practically drinking up the heat he has to offer; he knows that the other (his friend? Lover? Labels have never been Kravitz’s forte, his _jam_.) doesn’t care for the chill in his bones, the frost that clings to his fingertips like the light dusting of snow the first day of winter, but Kravitz can't bring himself to care, not in this moment.

 

Taako talks less when it's just the two of them; perhaps he doesn’t feel the need to be so theatric, so _there_ , putting himself on display for the attention, the delight of an audience. Taako will always be a performer, an actor, protecting himself with his layers. Kravitz knows this, but feels some semblance of comfort (and perhaps a dash of pride) in the fact that he feels like he’s starting to chip away at those walls. 

 

When he does speak, he speaks without, well, without _something_ there, something that holds him back. Kravitz is grateful for it, for the small ‘ _i’m worried no one else will have me’s_ , the confirmation, the tone in his voice and the hint that they both don’t know what they’re doing. He does not know what he means by this; he’s lost in thought, cold hands in dyed hair, lidded eyes and slow breathing and the occasional pause at the sound of a sharp intake of breath whenever Kravitz’s hands come too close to anything but blond. The noise, he’s hyper aware of it, but the desire to press his cold hands to the back of Taako’s neck and feel the warmth there is there and prominent; he _wants_ to, he does, more than anything, but he refrains.

 

The thought sits. Taako rolls and gazes up at Kravitz through his eyelashes, eyes sleepy, with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

 

“Krav, _honey_ , if you touch my neck with those clammy hands of yours again, I _will_ burn a spell slot on you, yeah?” 

 

Kravitz’s simply chuckles, more to himself than his companion. (Companion, he decides, works best, though it sounds… _Incorrect_. It’s the best he can do, so he sticks with it, despite the way the word tastes in his mouth.) 

 

“Yes, I know,”

 

He focuses on the word honey instead, and the warmth in it, and leans back into the couch, almost as content with the feeling. 

 

\---

 

Another time, they’re planetside; Taako is doing an odd job for the Bureau and Kravitz has receives a call not five minutes after he hears about his companion’s venture calling him to some small town near the coast.

 

Of course, he’s there in a heartbeat, and of course, Taako gives him the slyest grin as soon as he exits the rift that brings him to the destination. Couldn’t wait to see me, he comments, and Kravitz rolls his eyes, focusing on the other and ignoring the thought of how he misses the feeling of the sea wind on his skin, in his hair, _everything_. He can still feel it, sure, but it doesn’t feel _right_ ; the chill isn’t there, only the sting, and Kravitz thinks in a single moment that he should race into the embrace of the sea just to see if he’ll feel it. 

 

That’s stupid, Kravitz thinks, but like any other thought, it still lingers. 

 

They stay in a small tavern with a wide view of the ocean, the noise of gulls floods in through the open windows. The curtains are thin, almost lace, and the breeze, Taako comments dryly, is absolutely terrible. It’s quaint, and terribly domestic, and the room has only a single full bed that looks much too small, and Taako _absolutely_ will not let him leave. 

 

The third thing that Kravitz notices (or, deduces, rather) is that Taako is afraid of the dark. It’s not in his voice, his witty retorts, or his body language, because Taako is too smart to let those things give him away, but Kravitz can just _tell_. Taako doesn’t ask him not to leave, but…

 

Maybe he can spend the night, just this once. 

 

The fourth thing that Kravitz notices (notices isn’t right any more, realizes is closer to the truth) is that his companion is not, in fact, afraid of the dark, but is afraid of being left alone. It’s how he, when they both lay uncomfortable and side by side on the bed (the bed was made of rusty springs and the pillows were stiff, and probably filled with shells), glances at Kravitz every so often as if he assumes the other will simply disappear. It’s in how he sleeps, too; facing Kravitz, facial features softened by the light of the crescent moo, open and vulnerable. As Kravitz shifts, only slightly, his arm wraps around the reaper, and Kravitz _freezes_. 

 

On one hand, Kravitz ponders in a moment of panic if the chill he gives off could be enough to kill Taako. On the other hand… The sudden warmth was so welcoming, the open arms of a good night’s sleep, calling and calling… 

 

Kravitz crashes in Taako’s embrace, and he thinks, during the moment between consciousness and the thrall of sleep, that this shouldn’t become a habit.

 

\---  
There is a warmth that Kravitz feels in his chest, or, rather, thinks he feels, remembers feeling; the warmth of clothes just out of the dryer, of the sand between your toes, three layers of dark clothing on a late candlenights winter gift run, the sun, of a hand in your hand and a smile on your face as you walk the cobbled streets of a place called home. 

 

Kravitz supposes this is what love feels like. 

 

Memories come back to him like a flood, memories from _before_ ; they drown him in a fleeting feeling of warmth, the memory of things he’s felt, what he misses, the new thoughts that, as soon as they come, fall through his grasp like water. The thoughts grip him as he lays in bed after a long day; He can still _feel_ warmth, he can still choose to _feel_ , sure, but that isn’t his problem. He can’t tell how cold he is, he doesn’t radiate warmth, he isn’t quite _alive_. It’s never bothered him so much, no, not until after he meets Taako, and hears the off-handed comments the wizard serves up. 

Kravitz can’t feel much of, well, _anything_ , not in this moment; he can’t feel the bed he’s in, the fabric under his calloused fingertips, can’t notice how his eyes can’t focus, can’t think of how nothing feels real and he doesn’t feel real. All he can think of, in this moment, is of a simple desire, to be warm. 

 

He thinks he’s asking for too much. 

 

\---

 

The Bureau base, to no one’s surprise but Kravitz, can get hot. Hot and _humid_ , as Taako had stated with an exasperated and downright _tired_ tone that crackled over the Stone of Farspeech at an absolutely ungodly hour in the morning.

 

(Of course it can, Kravitz reasons one day while lingering in his home, moments before making a rift. The moon base still gets closer to the sun, it still has it’s own sort of cycle, _almost_ , and- )

 

His Stone of Farspeech blinks to life for what feels like the hundredth time this morning - a different morning, the third in a heat wave, he assumes - as Kravitz, with a swipe of his scythe, opens a rift and takes a step through before the thought of the Bureau’s moon base seasonal cycle gets off the ground.

 

He finds himself, for what feels like the hundredth time, on the hardwood floor of Taako’s (and, by extension, his team’s) home. The one he’s looking for is dressed in nothing but work-out shorts and a tank top that, from where the reaper stands, says "Pool First Dates? Sorry Honey, My Makeup's Waterproof.” in bright pop-out text. A book with a sticky note on the otherwise blank cover reads, in large cursive handwriting, “The Spoon Thief”, and levitates in front of the elf, though he doesn’t seem to be reading. 

 

Kravitz really hopes that tank top is a gag gift from a Bureau Candlenights office gift exchange, or something, but… He shouldn’t get his hopes up, with Taako. He’s grown used to the elf’s fashion choices, at this point, and he honestly pulled off the gross black-tanktop-bright-writing thing. _Really_. 

 

Kravitz stands there for a good few moments before realizing how weird he probably looks, just _standing_ and he gives a small, “ _ahem_ ” as the rift gives a small closing “pop!”. Taako doesn’t stir, the book levitating in front of him does not falter, not even for a second. He gives another cough, louder this time, and Taako casually casts his gaze over, eyes heavy. Sweat sticks to the back of his neck and under his eyes, and he seems to glisten in the sun that spills through the thin curtain covering the tall window off to the side. 

 

Taako blinks once, twice, and Kravitz rubs his hands together, anxious and ever-cold. He nods. Taako grins and sits up, gesturing to the now open space where his legs had been resting. 

 

Kravitz moves across the room in four long strides (his shoes click on the wood floor in the worst way), and sits. The book that hovers in front of the elf floats its way to the table and lands with a heavy thud, disturbing the fine layer of dust that had collected on the mugs set there. As always, the suite smelled of freshly baked goods and incense and, now, the faint smell of soil (Kravitz noted that there was an absolutely _sad_ looking new Bonsai tree on the windowsill, and a half-full bag of Fantasy Costco brand soil held closed with a cheap clip sitting underneath it.) The room was orange with sunlight, and every surface seemed to shine in a way that hurt to look at if they catch your attention for more than a moment.

 

Kravitz can feel Taako’s eyes on him, as he looks around the room; he feels the dip in the couch where the other had been laying his feet, swears he feels Taako inching closer, slowly, slowly- 

 

“I-Is everything alright?” Kravitz asks, tentatively, not quite sure if he’s imagining the tension that hangs in the air like the humidity. He’s never been good with reading the atmosphere, no, the whole reaper job hadn’t really helped with that. No, sir. 

 

“It’s _hot_ ,” Taako replies, lamely, as if that was both a plausible and obvious answer and reason for… This, the tension, whatever’s going on. _Why is this so awkward? Is it me?_ Kravitz thinks in a moment of panic, before replying without any forethought put into his words. 

 

“What, me, or the, uh, moon base?” 

 

Taako snorts, and Kravitz lets himself give a small chuckle, and the atmosphere in the room changes, just slightly, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. He lets out a small breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, and finally sits back into the embrace of the stained brown couch. The ever-present crochet quilt usually thrown over the sofa like yesterday’s laundry was crumpled at the foot of the table, apparently donned as too warm for the weather. 

 

“You look, oh, how should I phrase this…” Kravitz starts, looking at Taako with a dubious frown. “I feel like _bad_ is too simple, but my mind is really drawing blanks here,” 

 

“It’s, like, ten billion degrees outside, dude,” Taako retorts, still scooting closer at a snail’s pace. His long, manicured nails are painted a soft shade of blue, the color of the sky, and his fingers idly tap and almost seem to claw at the stained upholstery. Kravitz is briefly reminded of a cat, once again, and he gives a small internal chuckle at the recurring thought. 

 

“I feel like that’s a _bit_ over exaggerated,”

 

“Honey, when you have to deal with your fucking face feeling like it’s _melting off_ , then, and _only_ then, can you call me out on my use of exaggeration,” The way in which Taako retorts to Kravitz’s quiet quips is just a pinch more exasperated than usual, and in pondering this Kravitz barely notices that, oh, they’re sitting right next to each other now, and- 

 

Oh, _Goddess_ , Taako is _warm_ ; If he was a fireplace earlier, now he was a forest fire, an out of control inferno. Why he only feels this warmth when it’s directly associated with people, specifically the elf sitting next to him, he doesn’t quite know. Maybe it’s the contact and not the warmth itself, or maybe death, or undeath, is fucking _weird_ and has certain rules. He really doesn’t know, and most other days the concept would irritate him to no end, like a sudoku puzzle in the paper that you think you’ve got until the very last row. All he _does_ know, in this moment, is that Taako was taking his hand in his, slowly, not recoiling at the cold touch in the slightest!

 

“ _Perfect _,” Taako practically purrs, and Kravitz can’t comprehend anything beyond the warmth that spreads up his arm, into his chest, his heart, his whole body. He can’t think as Taako moves his hand, and then his arm, to the back of his neck, or as he moves in to rest in the nook of Kravitz’s body and the couch. A silence descends upon the room and Kravitz thinks for a good moment that he’s going to die, that his body is going to become so warm as he embraces this inferno that he’ll simply combust, turn to ash, charcoal, that he’ll return to the Raven Queen nothing more than a charred husk.__

__

__“Y’know, Krav. I am a _genius_ ,” Taako starts, after a prolonged silence in which the two simply took in each others presence. “I feel if you and I were like, _one person_ , and it was a real hot day like this, we’d be, like… The perfect temperature, ya dig?” _ _

__

__Kravitz simply hums in response, and Taako chuckles._ _

__

__“And, see, your ice cube hands ain’t all that bad anymore! I’m a miracle worker, baby, and i’m also gonna need you to, like, come back every day until the base is away from the sun. _Seriously_ ,”_ _

__

__“What, so you can play doctor and pretend you’re curing me of my cold hands affliction?” Kravitz decides to play along, and he can feel Taako chuckle at his side. It fills him with a new warmth, something more than body heat; one that starts in his chest and radiates through him from the inside out. He feels his face flush. “I’m afraid these cold hands are here to stay, dear, they kind of come with the package,”_ _

__

__Taako snorts, again, giving a breathy laugh and Kravitz chuckles along, their fingers still tangled together. “That, and I think i’ll die of heatstroke if you aren’t around, yeah? Also, _come on_! That’s what they all say, hon. Give me a week, no- two weeks! Give me two weeks, honeybun, i’ve got a fucking stellar idea, you’ll love it,”_ _

__

___Honeybun_ , Kravitz thinks in the back of his mind, with a small note of confusion and panic, because, ‘‘they’re already at pastry-based pet names?’’ A genuine laugh bubbles up inside him, because he feels warm and loved and _alive_ , here on this gross couch with an elf dressed in the worst attire the reaper has ever seen curled up next to him. “And, for some reason I can’t _begin_ to think of, i’m not convinced. Guess i’ll just have to swing by in two weeks, huh?”_ _

__

__“Two weeks and every day in-between, my man,” Taako hums, and Kravitz gives a happy sigh, “It’s like… I mean, It’s like we’re meant to be, y’know? I’m warm and you’re not? Right?”_ _

__

__Kravitz laughs, again, as he looks at Taako, who is looking at him through his eyelashes with the biggest, most sly smile plastered on his face._ _

__

__“Yes, we are,” He states, simply, and he watches Taako’s face flush with a warm satisfaction. In the light of the day, they both curl up on the couch, and Taako falls asleep with his face on Kravitz’s chest, their hands still intertwined. It’s uncomfortable, unconventional, and if he falls asleep too, Kravitz knows the rest of his companion’s (no, his _boyfriend’s_ ) party is sure to find them here._ _

__

__He’s absolutely, one hundred percent sure that’s how Taako would want it. He dozes off to the sound of Taako’s heartbeat, feeling so warm, inside and out, not worrying about anything other than the moment, the now, and his free hand running through the elf’s hair without the slightest worry of having his hands brush too close to his neck and the creeping freckles that Kravitz notices only now. Just like always, he thinks; just like always, he _hopes_. _ _

__

__He falls asleep, content and warm, the chill in his bones thawed by the simple physical contact of the one beside him._ _

__

__Two weeks of this might just not be so bad._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank!! you!!! a whole bunch!! for reading this!!!!  
> come hold my hand or something on tumblr, @shymemes  
> (please do i have those cold cold hands)
> 
> song : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-jqdb0ExmA
> 
> chapter two of this may or may not happen: its after the two weeks and if it happens it prolly wont be more than a couple hundred words! whoops!! haha
> 
> also!!!!! any kudos and comments are so so super appreciated, they really keep me going!!! ok im love you!!!!! thank you!!!!!


	2. two weeks;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> five meetings in the comfort of the Bureau and one meeting with Kravitz's boss; things work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i like writing in the 5 +1 format and also i wrote krav v v different in this one,..,,. very lovestruck idiot,..,  
> thank u so much for reading!!! im love u!!!!! enjoy this mess

Two weeks go by in a blur of moments, of colors and sounds and smells and _warmth_ , so much warmth.

 

i

 

Kravitz presses his hand to the spot on Taako’s chest where his heart is, frigid fingertips held to feel the heartbeat there. The rhythm is a comfort, a grounding steady beat, reliable and _there_. 

Taako, of course, shivers but offers up his best grin. Despite how calm and collected he looks, his heart is racing. It's comforting, Kravitz thinks, for what feels like the hundredth time.

"Your hands are warmer than usual, hon -- am I rubbing off on ya? You're less clammy and more unheated pool, or rain, or...some third thing I can't think of," Taako ends rather lamely, and cocks his head to the side. Kravitz thinks he’s just saying that to make him feel better about the temperature of his hands, but he chuckles nonetheless. 

 

“I think,” he starts, before flashing a soft smile, “that this is going to work,” 

 

ii

 

They try to meet every day-- every day when the Director isn't running Taako and his companions through rigorous training and every day when Kravitz isn’t off doing his job, paperwork, or anything else. It’s hectic, and they meet not nearly enough as they would like, but they make do.

 

Kravitz’s hands don’t get any warmer. Neither of them are surprised when three days makes no difference, when a week makes no dent in the ice that seems to almost physically coat the hands of the other, when nine days of hand holding amounts to nothing but an internal warmth and a smile.

 

He comes to associate the smell of baked goods and the color blue with him, after five days of appearing in Taako’s room when the the day is done; the suite constantly smells of brownies and sweets and, though Kravitz never sees any of the goods, the aroma of chocolate chip cookies seems to be a constant, It’s a nice change from damp city cobblestone and the faint smell of copper that he’s used to. 

“If I’m being real, my man,” Taako says drowsily with lidded eyes one lazy day (the fifth day of _this_ , whatever it is) when they’re sprawled out on Taako’s queen sized bed amongst pillows, fluffy blankets, and magic books, their legs intertwined. (Kravitz is in a layer or two of clothing, for he knew he seemed to give off the worst chill, and that much contact, that touch, would probably be too much for anyone). “I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand,”

 

iii

 

Kravitz can’t stop thinking about him, which isn’t a _problem_ , per se, but it sure makes his job just a teeny bit harder. He’s out in Rockport, and the early morning fog hangs low, providing both the perfect entrance and the most lovely aesthetic. His cloak billows in the breeze, scythe slung over his shoulder; he can’t think of anything other than pretty brown eyes and a hand in his.

 

It’s distracting, in the best way, and he’s sure that he’d be smiling right now, if he could. (What a sight that would be! The fog, a grinning skeletal face; Kravitz thinks that’s the sort of thing people write poems and folk lore campfire stories about, and that thought is equal parts empowering and incredibly pleasing).

 

A creeping feeling of deja vu comes to the reaper as he finds his target, this time a plump man backed into a long alleyway, who is as red in the brick wall he’s pressed himself up against. The shadows in the early morning light are eerie, and the fog curls around and dulls the polished shine of Kravitz’s shoes as he thinks of warm mugs of hot cocoa and barely inaudible whispers broken apart by breathy laughter, of painted blue nails bitten to stubs, and of the crackle of magic he can hear whenever Taako drifts off into (usually fitful and not at all lasting) sleep. 

 

The man pleas with wide eyes and clenched fists, and there is blood caked under his nails, in his hair; he reeks of it, and Kravitz, if his skeletal form had eyes, would be rolling them into the back of his head. The reaper recites the same old monologue, the “You Did Wrong, Sorry Bud, It’s Eternal Stockade Time” one, which in new policy he was required to tell. He tries to keep his voice from being too monotone. 

 

The man takes one step forward, then two, a wild and almost animalistic fear in his eyes, and looks like he’s about to reach for a concealed weapon. He grabs what looks like a butter knife that had been stashed in his back pocket and runs at him with a war cry. Kravitz swings at him, all while reciting the policy, more annoyed than anything. 

 

Kravitz sends the soul off, both thinking of somewhere warmer than here and about how this man couldn’t even wait until he’d heard his rights as a soul who’s done wrong to make a move to attack. He feels the skin mold and stretch over his skull as he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out the stone of far speech that hums under his hand almost in greeting. 

 

Taako always wants to hear his work stories, and this seems like a pretty good one to Kravitz, so-

 

iv

 

Taako’s couch must be enchanted, or must have had Merle sit on it so much that Zone Of Truth is just imbued into the cushions, because Kravitz finds that when he’s sitting on the ratty old couch in the living room of the Tres Horny Bois estate, it’s easy to slip into conversation and just… _talk_. 

 

“All, like, all I’m saying is that the Eternal Stockade, or _whatever_ , is a fucking _intense_ name, my man,” Taako is a drink and a half, or maybe two, or three, into the labelless bottle of what Kravitz assumes is cheap Fantasy Costco shelf alcohol. They’re both drinking out of horridly overcolored Candlenights mugs and, though the drink doesn’t affect Kravitz as much as he’s wishing, Taako is slightly flushed in the face and it’s probably the best thing the reaper has seen, ever. 

 

He doesn’t really realize he’s staring, or how tight he’s gripping Taako’s hand, until the elf’s brown eyes meet him and he watches the shit eating grin creep into his significant other’s already smug expression. Kravitz thinks he's warm in the face in as he keeps his gaze, and as Taako maintains eye contact as he takes another large drink out of his mug. 

 

“I-uh,” Kravitz stumbles over his words in a moment of panic as he’s trying so so hard not to get lost in Taako’s eyes, blinking once, twice, before continuing, “It’s not, uh, not as bad as it sounds, really,” He sounds quiet, and feels Taako’s thumb rubbing gentle circles into his knuckles. 

 

“Oh?” is the only reply he gets, and Kravitz responds with a nod and a drink. The alcohol isn’t strong by any means but he isn’t sure how many mugs he’s had, due to Taako reaching over and refilling it whenever the reaper wasn’t looking. “Why even call it that, then, like... I bet even _I_ could come up with a better name, y’know?”

“Alright, shoot.”

 

Kravitz feels a grin spread across his face as Taako sputters, and then sets his mug to be held between his legs as he bites at the undersides of the nails on his free hand. It’s a terrible habit, but Kravitz does the same thing, and he doesn’t think to say anything. 

 

After a moment of heavy anticipation-laden silence, Taako huffs. “You’re really putting me on the spot, hon,” he whines, before giving a lopsided pout and leaning over so that his head would rest on Kravitz’s shoulder. Even that contact is warm, so warm, and the reaper leans into it just the slightest bit. (That, or the warmth is all in the alcohol, or perhaps both?) “Just… Just call it something dumb, like, uh, _fuck_ -” Taako looks almost pained that he can’t find a better name, and Kravitz thinks it's hilarious and clamps one hand over his mouth lightly to stifle the smallest chuckle he can feel rising up inside him like a gust of warm air. 

 

“Just call it “ _The weenie jail for little babies_ ’”, or something dumb like that, you know? _You know_?” Taako punctuates his repetition with a light jab at Kravitz’s side with his elbow, getting a surprised almost but not quite yelp out of him. 

(Kravitz has _always_ been ticklish, and it’s up there on his list of super secrets, and because of the sudden look of understanding that puts a new and devious gleam in Taako’s eyes, he is very sure that his secret isn’t a secret any longer.)

 

“See…” Kravitz says, but falters with a creeping sense of fear as Taako seems to think, for a moment, “I feel like “The Weenie Jail for Little Babies” doesn't have the same ring? Try again, perhaps?”

 

The wizard mutters something incoherent about trying again, more of a grumble than anything, and then Taako practically leaps on him, the cup (which was, thankfully, almost empty) dropping to the ground and rolling to a stop at the foot of the table. Kravitz _yelps_ , not quite taken off guard but also three (he’s almost _certain_ it's three, now, but it could very well be four?) mugs of drink down and he’s never been the best at, well, this is more wrestling now than anything else. 

 

Taako grins and attempts to go for the most ticklish spots he can think of (his poor sides, under his arms, the neck,) all while Kravitz tries to keep himself from laughing because he is so warm and so, so in love (he’s drowning in the feeling, gasping for air in between bursts of laughter); he can’t think of anything else than this moment, as Taako’s dyed hair (the brown is starting to creep down more, the comforting color of the earth, and of soil) hangs over his face and the determined jut of his chin is so endearing as his nails poke and prod into Kravitz’s side. Every nudge makes him squirm and grin and laugh just a smallest bit, and he tries his hardest to shove Taako off of him, but it’s no use. Kravitz was pinned under the smaller elf, who grins down at him triumphantly. 

 

“I _win_ ,” he says, simply, and Kravitz gives a slow nod, flushed in the face and grinning. Taako takes one look at him and rolls his eyes, and the smile he wears is so soft and so warm.“Kravitz, stop looking at me like that, gosh, you’re gonna give me cavities!” 

 

Kravitz is confused, at first, cognitive skills slowed by the alcohol just starting to get to him; he’s never understood the ‘ _lightbulb going off over your head_ ’ saying until this moment, here, when he finally gets it. If his grin could get any wider, it totally, 100% did. 

 

“I-I just, I just can’t help it! You’re just so… _so_ …” if Kravitz has to pause one more time to figure out just what words he wants to use, he’s sure he’ll keel over and die, here, on a ratty old couch intoxicated and practically bewitched by the brown eyes of the elf, by his hands, the scar that runs itself down his right arm, and the freckled that dot his skin like- like-

 

At this point Taako has opted to lay on him like a blanket, red in the face with eyes never leaving the Reaper’s. Kravitz has to look away, he has to; he can’t think when he’s adrift in warm thoughts and intimacy. It’s nice, and, though Taako is bony and is not at _all_ a comfortable blanket, he wishes that he could come home every day to something like this. 

 

These last two weeks have been _weird_ ; nice, comforting, and Kravitz could feel the warmth radiating through his whole body as he brought one hand up to run through Taako’s knotted hair. It’s as soft as ever, and he swears Taako is _purring_ , which is equal parts adorable and confusing, but like any other thought, it passes like clouds on a windy day, and they lay there, _together_ ; Kravitz thinks that he is absolutely, one hundred percent head over heels for this elf and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. 

 

v 

 

The Reaper meets Taako outside of the Bureau’s Fantasy Costco complex at three in the afternoon on a warm Sunday, and the sun is bright and impossibly close, and Kravitz is so, so out of his element. Taako has, every day for the past two weeks (two weeks and three days, now, but who’s keeping track?), told him of his great, super smart plan, and now it was coming to fruition; Kravitz had been told not two minutes earlier to lean and look “chill, or _whatever_ ,” outside of the building, as Taako sauntered in with a bag of coins. 

 

So, Kravitz decides to lean against one of the walls, arms crossed, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his cloaks with an anxiety that certainly shouldn’t be hanging around him like rainclouds on this sunny afternoon. 

 

Taako is gone for 15 minutes, and no one walks past Kravitz as he waits. He feels like he’s holding his breath, waiting for someone to swing by, see him, and call the alarm and set the whole place on lockdown; he’s waiting for someone to come by and attack, to lash out due to fear; he’s waiting for the worst as he looks back and forth from the entrance of the shop to the other spheres and areas of the base. Back and forth, back and forth. 

 

The jingle, the cursed jungle, plays as Taako (with his umbra staff open and shading him in the harsh sun) walks out of the store, cheap plastic Fantasy Costco bag in hand. Kravitz idly wonders if he had the umbrella open the whole time he was in there, but Taako is grinning at him with something behind his back before he can really think about that concept for more than a moment. 

 

“This plan has taken two weeks, yeah? Two weeks and then some? I’m gonna need you to close your eyes, my man,”

 

Kravitz does as he says, without thinking, setting two feet on the ground as he hears Taako curse and the sound of plastic being rubbed against itself; the angry sound of someone digging through a bag, before he hears a small ‘aha!’ of triumph. Kravitz gets more excited and anxious by the second, and he feels a warm hand grip his own (every time it happens is like the first; the warmth spreads up his body like he’s plunged his hand into the fire, and feels the tips of his fingertips almost tingle at the sensation). 

Something soft and weirdly shaped is fitted into his palm, and he frowns at the texture, trying to discern what exactly it is without opening his eyes. It can’t be, well, a dog; it’s not large enough to be something like a blanket-

 

“Y’know, Krav, as _totally handsome_ as you look leaning back against the wall with your eyes shut so tight you look like you’re expecting a punch to the gut, you can, like, totally open your eyes now,” Taako says, and Kravitz feels quite silly as the feeling of heat rushes back to his face. He opens his eyes. 

 

Kravitz clinches his left hand to crush a pair of mittens fitted there. Or, _gloves_ , rather.

 

They’re simple in nature- plain black, with a grey stripe where the the gloves end. They’re incredibly soft, softer than anything the reaper has ever felt, he thinks, and he takes a moment, and then two, to run his hand over the gift repeatedly. 

 

“I know I couldn’t cure your, uh, cold hands affliction,” Kravitz looks up at Taako as he has one hand on the back of his neck awkwardly, the other stuffed into the pocket of his Bureau-Issued hoodie. “So I figured these would be the _next_ best thing? Try ‘em on -- if they don’t fit i’ll have to pass them on to, uh, Ango, or something, because Garfield is absolutely not a fan of returns, and-” 

 

“ _Taako_ , cakepop. Does no one at your work give good Candlenights and birthday gifts or something? Yikes, dude, I-”

 

“No, _no_ , not like that! I mean… It’s the sentiment in it, I suppose? I’m not entirely sure. This, these,” Kravitz slips the second glove on his hand with rubs his hands together, before holding them out in front of him, palms facing Taako. “It just means a lot, is all.”

 

Kravitz thinks that was a rather lame way to end that; he wants to hug Taako, wants to twirl him, to kiss him, for goddess’s sake, but he can’t. He feels rooted to the spot, warm and comfortable and completely immobile and hopeless, eyes wide with adoration and worry and anxiety and what he knows now to be love. 

 

“Can I kiss you?” The question tumbles out of his lips before he can stop it; they’ve kissed before, sure, but never anywhere in the open and not quite as many times as Kravitz would like. Taako looks at him eyes wide and sputters, covering his face with his hands with a laugh. 

 

They’re both making the same face, both covering their faces in the warm afternoon light like two teenagers a week into a relationship; they both laugh, at the same time, a sound that carries into the not-quite humid air like the Voidfish’s song. Kravitz, as soon as Taako looks back at him once again, closes the gap between them in one motion and brings up his now gloved hand to his boyfriend’s neck. 

 

“Is- is that okay?” Usually, his hands are too cold to rest there, but now, Taako grins. 

 

“It’s dandy, my man, it’s absolutely _stellar_.” Kravitz kisses him as soon as those words leave his mouth, soft and unsure; he’s hyperaware of the warmth that spills from the elf, and is so glad he doesn’t, in this moment, need to worry about his cold hands or anything other than the one he holds so close.

 

He wishes that they could stay like that forever, so close and intimate and warm, and he’s sure that he’s about to melt into a puddle and die, and when they part he presses his forehead to Taako’s and can’t help the laughter from bubbling up in him again.

 

Jeez, what was with him, these last two weeks? Kravitz feels different whenever he’s around the other, so much lighter and his ability to speak flies out of the nearest window; he feels _warm_ and safe and grounded when he’s in Taako’s presence. He feels like a lovestruck idiot, gushing like this, on the side of the entrance of the Fantasy Costco shopping complex

 

“ _So_... Are the black gloves, like, okay? Do they fit that whole, ‘Grim Reaper’ aesthetic thing you've got goin’ on? It was either black and grey or bright pink with ladybugs, so, I feel like I made the right choice? I _also_ may or may not have bought the latter, though, because they were totally rad, and-” Kravitz knows that Taako has a tendency to ramble when he’s nervous, to go on and on and to try and change the topic of conversation, even with his nose brushing kravitz’s and his hand just ghosting the other’s hip. 

 

“Yes,” he replies with a breathy laugh, pushing Taako just a teeny bit away so that he can give him his best, ‘are you even serious right now, dude?’ look. “They’re wonderful. I love them a lot. I, uh-”

 

“-You really wanna kiss me again?”

 

“Stole the words right out of my mouth, dear”

 

This time the warmth doesn’t catch him quite as off guard.

 

 

+1

 

The gloves, to no one’s surprise, don’t help too much in the cold hands department. They’re made of cheap cotton and the chill always seems to seep through the fabric just a second later than usual, but they make Kravitz so happy that he always slips them on with his work uniform, just because.

 

It’s not long before someone notices, but when it’s Kravitz’s boss and _goddess_? Talk about embarrassing, especially when the target she’s assigning is the biggest one this month. Kravitz walks into her office, the black-on-black decorated space, with candles lit and the faint smell of vanilla absolutely buffeting him as he opens the door. The smell always sends him reeling, for a moment, but he strolls into the room nonetheless.

 

The Raven Queen looks up from the stack of papers almost dauntingly piled on her desk (which is both simple and elegant in looks, carved with depictions of ravens and a large scale carved in the face. A single chair sits in front of her desk, and Kravitz does a polite bow to his goddess before taking the seat. Fingers steepled in front of her, she almost seems to size him up; it’s routine, this procedure, the Raven Queen making sure her bounty hunter is in good health. 

 

Kravitz sits up straight and folds his hands neatly in his lap, just like always. 

 

After what feels like an hour but is in reality nothing more than a few seconds, she nods, and reaches for the squat file cabinet Kravitz knows is behind her desk.  
“Anything new?” she asks, while reaching for the file; the goddess always adopts something of a motherly tone when slipping into casual conversation, and Kravitz is, quite honestly, _really_ grateful. She comes back up before he can get a solid reply in, a single wavy black strand of hair falling out of the messy bun her hair is pulled into. 

 

“This, er, this _perp_ , as you would say, is quite dangerous, possibly the worst necromancer we’ve seen this month. She has been causing quite a bit of trouble in-” she pauses with the smallest frown as Kravitz reaches up to take the file, black mittens finally visible in the soft candlelight. He opens the file without looking up at her, eyes scanning over the scarce information listed there. The one listed in the file was a young woman, early 20’s, dark red hair, last seen i-

 

“ _Kravitz_.” The bounty hunter looks up as his goddess says his name in a tone that either means he’s about to be totally _mom’d_ by his goddess, or that he is in some serious trouble. He panics briefly, wondering if wearing the gloves are violating some sort of secret bounty hunter dress code, or if he’s finally been caught sneaking out to visit Taako and is about to pay the price. “Are...Are you wearing _mittens_? Holiday gloves?”

 

“It’s cold outside, my lady,” Kravitz immediately replies, almost without thinking about it, tensing as his eyes go wide. “My boyf- _someone_ was worried about me, so they bought them maybe three days ago or so?”

 

“You’re… Dead, though?” The Raven Queen doesn’t look upset, no, she looks _intrigued_ , leaning forward slightly with her head resting on her hands. Absolutely not a good sign. Kravitz shifts uncomfortably in his seat, absentmindedly tugging at the index finger of the glove as he tries to come up with some words beyond, “ _yeah, my boyfriend gave them to me, I have really cold hands and these make me feel a lot better about a lot of things, and yes they totally match the outfit, thank you._ ”’

 

“...Yeah?” Kravitz says, but it comes out more like a question as he feels the heat rise in his face. He wants to sink into the chair (beautifully carved with a dark brown cushion) and disappear forever, to have anything other than this conversation. 

 

“And he, no, _they_ , they know this?”

 

“Uh-huh?” 

 

“Huh. Interesting,” The Raven Queen says simply. “And you’re going to take the soul of this necromancer, wearing black holiday mittens?” She’s totally messing with him, and Kravitz knows this, and he watches as she tucks the loose strand of hair behind her ear with a soft and almost understanding smile. Kravitz Stands Up. 

 

“Well. When you put it that way, it sounds hilarious, so… Yes. Also, m-my lady, I should, uh, I should go? And do… this job. Do some research… _Yeah_ ,” Kravitz is already giving a bow and backing just slightly towards the door, and if by fate and fate alone he can feel the Stone of Farspeech buzzing in his pocket, almost as if the elf he’s sure is on the other end had been listening in the whole time. 

 

Oh, gosh, what if he was. Kravitz ponders the thought in horror as he takes another step, then two, towards the door, giving another curt nod more out of panic than courtesy. He turns after the goddess returns his nod with an almost understanding facial expression. Kravitz is almost in the clear, when he hears the Raven Queen clear her throat. He pauses, one gloved hand on the closed door.

 

“Oh, Kravitz, make sure you invite him for poker next time you see him, alright?” He can feel his face _burn_ and knows the smile plastered onto the Raven Queen’s face is the same one Taako wears whenever he thinks he’s so clever; Kravitz coughs awkwardly and walks out of her office with his gloved hands stuck in his pockets and his head down but he can’t think past the smile that’s spreading on his own face.

 

In fact, his stone was still ringing (or _buzzing_ , rather), and as he steps out of the office building and into the light of the realm. He takes it out and holds the humming rock in his gloved hand. Like so many other things, the stone is a comfort, warm and reliable, and Kravitz is warmed by the thought of an elf on a queen sized bed amongst blankets and magic books in a home that smells like freshly baked goods, comforted by the scarred and kind hands irritably gripping the Stone of Farspeech on the other end, by the eyerolls he’s probably doing, by the messy bun his hair is probably up in. Comforted by the concept of it all.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Taako knows how to play poker, but Kravitz just slightly doubts it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> booyyy howdy.,,.,.,. yells really loud  
> if u read this and leave a rlly long comment ill probably name my firstborn after you, just saying  
> (live and die for that sweet sweet validation)  
> -
> 
> all the nice words and everything really really cheered me up while i was in a bit of a mood dump, thank you all sososo so much!!! ahh!!!!! im lov u guys?????
> 
>  
> 
> come, like, hold my hand or something on tumblr, @shymemes , or on twitter @shymemes11 ??? heck yea


End file.
